you made
my lips
taste not
like cherry
but whiskey

the only time he
told you he loved you
was when he pressed
his mauve lips to yours
and your tongue
got twisted inside
tasting the thick honey
he sipped between your thighs;

when his claws dug
deeper and deeper
into your muffled skin
making your body mottled
with purple patches and scratches
with rosy blood that hurt
so lovely like thorns of roses;

when his hands crawled
around your body and
his fingertips touched
the parts men should not touch;

when he
finally entered inside you,
penetrating the orifice
every man dreams of getting in;

when he kissed parts
other than your lips
licking your neck
tasting the sugar and caramel
that was your sweat;

when he clenched your belly,
squished it like what he did
to your breast
and to your horror
it felt like a knot
tightening the flesh.

it was when
the wails from your throat
were the words you
could only speak.
the groans and moans
served as phrases
when you couldn't spew well
the correct formula
to whisper the
sensation you felt.

the only way you could
tell him you loved him too
was him to work rough
but gentle,
to go harder and deeper
while his tongue
kept searching yours,
while your bodies clung
chest to chest and skin to skin
dipped above the soft foam
inside that chamber,
and
he did.

finally,
straining your legs apart-
only wider this time-
pushing strong forces against
the nest between your thighs,
collapsing his body,
singing moans and triumphs
as if he
just held the haven,
he whispered something drone
you also tasted
on his saliva,
"it's done" he said
and,
in that moment
when he stopped driving
and he pulled
his manhood stick back
from your nest,
you knew,
it only
was your body
that he wanted.

i'm a fruit dressed
in a shell so callous and thick
so hard yet vulnerable
when i fall
i, too will easily break.

i'm a fruit so sweet
no one can taste
so fierce no one can touch
and so soft that everyone
dies to hug.

i'm a fruit ripened
through time of this orb
i go out in spring,
die in winter
i dance with trees,
until i turn splinter.

i'm a fruit sugary
in platonic disguise
so yellow and seraphic
smells like daisy
sticky as honey.

i'm a fruit unkind
no one knows what am i
how poisonous am i
until you taste the lie.

i was the land you once loved
and you were the voyager i admired
i remember you kissing
every part of me
with those steps of yours
making voices through rocks
as if singing with the ocean.
i was sleeping
when you explored my body
and i
felt the mixed
tenderness and roughness you
exerted while indulging yourself
in between my legs.
you fell in love
with the beauty i had
and all the flowers i
always bear in my land.
you knew i was pure
like a virg¡n that was so thirsty
for a miracle of rain and flood.
the trees, the fruits, the flowers,
all went thanking the gods
when they had seen you
exploring the untouched.
you appeared from nowhere
like a merman from a sea
that made my body aroused.
for a long long time
my soul was asleep
waiting for a knight
to kiss the purity
that my body had.
or perhaps,
waiting for another soul
to live in me and indulge itself
on exploring the parts
yet to be explored.
after all,
you were a voyager
just another voyager
yet the first voyager
who skirred my flesh
and treasures
just for your
self-indulging expedition
and you...
you never came back.

you must be dying now
after tasting the poison
in my mouth.
haven't you heard?
my body is a castle
and i bear dungeon
between my thighs
only to fool everyone
that it's paradise.

your name
is an ice cream
that melts
every afternoon
of summer.
everytime i hear it
i jump in delight
imagining its letters
floating before my eyes.
your name seems sweet
and tender and cool
that my tongue
learned to love.

My serotonin
keeps producing
chemicals mixed
with your name.
I can't stop
thinking
about you
since nine a.m.

He hid himself
with the shadows
of someone he adored.

He followed every step.
He watched every move.
He peeked at him
through any way possible.

And one day,
as the day turned blue
and he heard
the bamboo trees
danced with the cooling
wind of January,
he fixated himself,
fronting the mirror,
looking at the poor visage
he always wore
and realized,
*he was famished of a love
he knew he couldn't have.

I'm an ocean.
The kind that which
its ocean floor
remains untouched.
The kind that is rich
with secrets hidden
somewhere deep
like demons dwelling -
living numerously,
animating and multiplying,
growing in immortality,
longing not for preys or food
but beauty and pride to uphold.

you
are not
an empty
canvas, honey.
you
already are
an art
that only
a beautiful heart
can appreciate.

I wish you were here.
    I wish you could hold
    my hands as we unfold
    the idea of love
    on that soothing evening
    and saccharine moment
    we could possibly have.

I wish you were here
    hugging me tight in those
    tender arms of yours,
    lending your raw ears
    in real patience as you listen
    to my trumpery words.

I wish you were here
    pouring me some love
    with words you often address
    to me like rain onto my head -
    as dry as thirsty roses.

I wish you were here.*
    I wish you love me
    like the way I always do
    like the way I always blow
    and serenely whisper
    the lovely words, 'i love you'
    through the winter air of December.

I was haunted
by the scenic beauty
of the three a.m. sky
under the halfmoon's light
silver and bright,
upon the algid stone
where I sat alone.
There was an odd feeling
I couldn't begin
putting into words
as they were like a twinge
upon my skin.
It was a pain
like a dust in my brain,
like thorns in my lungs,
and an acid in my tongue.

I was haunted
by the sadness and guilt,
remorse and regret.
For the Earth is so kind and fair
and all I did was pretend
a happiness no one
could comprehend.

Your satin lips against mine
like dungeon lit with fulgent fire,
like lonely seashore kissed by ocean,
and a flower plucked by a sweet hand.

I stood still in numb shape,
moved only my dull raw lips,
and wimpy hands around your neck
tasting the coffee you always drink.

Like a dream turned into reality -
pure fantasy ever my mind made.
Like an empty delicate paper
but spilled by boldness of an ink.

I was a fragile and empty canvas
yet you painted the meaning of love
through a simple smooch of your lips
that stood as precious brush thereof.

our mouths
are poured with honey.
yours are saline.
you swallow us
and you spit us
like we're too bad of a taste.
you cuff us.
tight noose to our necks.
break our bones.
pour hot water to our skin.
feed us nothing but salt.
why?
what is it to you
if a man
is in love
with another?

i can feel the ship
that you are,
voyaging inside
the wormhole
that is an object
of my purity.
i can sense the
pleasure you keep
driving inside
like a mixture
of wramth and rage.
the moanings
and flickings
halt when
you run out of force
to keep entering
the abyss that i am.
all of the sudden
i feel the fuel that
keeps you active
and running.
it litters all over
the stars and rocks
and bodies
that embody
my purity.
it's quite a mess
but it's haven.
somehow
you are a ship
and i am the universe.

I must be
too insane
of loving you
this way,
as though
I'm only staring
in stars,
impossible to reach
in any way.

I love you
and your lips
that taste like strawberry,
your hair that waves
quietly through the colors
of the summer wind,
your voice
that sounds so deep
and drowns every possible
thought I can make
making things less
until nothing is left but you.

I love you
and the way you say
these three sweet words
is like a night with endless fireworks
that I wish will never end.

my name
was a song
through your mouth
a song once loved
and embraced,
a song once played
and danced with.

my name
was a song
through your mouth
a song of love and peace,
a song of romance
and eternal regret
because
the less you sing it
the more dead it gets.

I was in love
and you were too.
On that orange
afternoon when
our eyes intersected
like collided stars
and all we've seen
was a speck of
sparkling dust.
I knew I was in love
and you were too.

Mixed magic of beauty and pain,
for her fate was in too much of blame.
Beautiful life severely stained,
considering her life was in much of shame.

Sharp as knife, noise as cry.
She murdered someone with lunatic lies.
Gaping at the streaming blood as it dries,
for she’s wholly distained in all of her life.

It wasn’t her fault to be this way,
for she was abused and in deception.
She never rummage of any ways,
until pictures of knives came into her vision.

Dark as night, red as blood.
Wishing the happiness she never had.
As she threw gaze at the corpse once again,
a perfect strange feeling suddenly came.

What was that feeling? What did she feel?
Sort of regret, sort of gladness.
She cannot say, she cannot tell,
for she finally felt the essence of happiness.

No more lies, no more cries.
Her life sustains and sadness will die.
No more heartaches, no more sadness
for she killed someone who caused darkness.

Crickets,
the only thing I hear
in this night wishing
I could just disappear.
Live? For what my dear?
There's nothing in me
I can endear
for you to stay here.

You were
such a caffeine
I couldn't sleep
'til you're out
of my brain.

In this frigid
wintry night,
I found myself
singing lullaby.
I just need to sleep -
the best way to fight
the feeling I got
the time you said
*g o o d b y e.

Why am I so in love
when all you gave
were lies?

he touched me like the way he touched my sister. i tried to cover my body—my ******* and my belly—but he forced my hands to spread and thighs to open, and he covered my mouth so i couldn't shout. i felt my tears turned into blood as they kept streaming from my eyes to his filthy body. “go to hell!” i told him. but then i realized, “isn't this already hell?”

when i tasted your kiss, i sort of felt an air of jealousy coming from a sugar that slept inside a bin my mother gave to me some years ago. it was sweet and unveiling as if your soul just clung to mine and they talked and had their own romantic contact through the abyss of our love. it was eternal too, when your lips met mine like a ship anchored on an untouched shore, i knew i was no longer pure and i felt our saliva waving and mixing with all those forces you plied on. i felt our tongue too, dancing waltz, only the music that stood were songs of our mouths that moaned.

when i tasted your kiss, honey just became insipid that bees were even disappointed and jealous of how lucky i was to have tasted your sweeter lips. your saliva was sticky and thick and, well, probably the sweetest thing i have ever tasted. it swam through my veins. it traveled my body until it left a stain on my heart.

when i tasted your kiss, i should have known in that very moment that it would be the first and the last one. i should have tasted the salt on your tongue, how it was mixed perfectly with the sweetness of your mouth. i should have tasted your goodbyes so my eyes would know when to start streaming the tears, so i should have cherished every stroke your lips made, so i should have let you ******* tears while it flowed down to our mouths.

you became part of me. it's clear that no matter how hard i try to convince you were just somebody who happened to come and go, there are areas now in my body that still long for you, your touch and your kiss.

and my heart, i hear her complains how the stain you left bothers her every night.

'What do you need?'* you asked
in a sweet solid baritone voice
but the kind that sounded as ice -
cold as if you were standing
barefoot over a frosty grass.

I heard my heart thumped
thrice when your brows crossed,
and your forehead wrinkled,
and began forming to its most
intimidating look.

I was stunned out of the blue -
knocked unconsciously
as if your words came out
fiery from the haunted look
of a horrifying goddess, Medusa.

I tried to understand subtly
the words that rang
repeatedly in my fragile heart,
the whys that kept orbiting my mind,
and the answers
that I couldn't bear to find.

Honey, I was in love
ever since the beginning I've seen
your smile surrounded by stars
and heard your words
sweet as songs of morning birds.

Honey, I'm sorry
for keeping this feeling,
for wanting you impossibly,
and for caging you inside
the rib cage where my heart resides.

Through my bare arms,
conjoined with bittersweet
memories of you and only you,
I'm now letting you go.
I'm letting my love slip
away like droplets of rain in leaves
so no more mornings to keep
waking up with gloom and pain,
sadness and shame.

Because honey,
I knew from the very start,
from the moment we met,
from those nostalgic
autumn vibe memory,
you couldn't give your heart
to a person as fool as me.

a thought has risen
as I watch the yellow leaves
fall to the ground,
forming aerial waves.

this was the place
i remember us playing
innocently like angels
of empyrean or heavens.

this was where i tripped
as a kid with games sticked
in mind as we breathed
the same tender, young air.

this was where I stumbled
upon this olive, autumn grass
everytime we play marbles,
and fought about
anything possible.

this was where i learned
about playful things
from morning until
pink skies set in.

this was where
it all happened.
you were fifteen
and I remember
your last innocent smile,
directed at me
under the falling leaves
of acacia tree.

you touched my head
and said
honey, be twelve.

i remember too well
that afternoon of April
when the sun was so bold
with its orange-crimson touch
i told you i love you
and my heart skipped a beat
because it knew
that was a wrong move.
you picked a flower
beside your left toe,
you hung it on my left ear,
and you told me
"please don't."

i spend every night
staring at the ceiling
blankly like a discharged
asylum patient.
always, my pillows are wet
so are my wrists
with blood oozing
from the slits i keep
making every now and then.

it doesn't hurt at all.
i would prefer to harm myself
than living a life
contaminated by regrets.

Staring at the deep blue ocean sky,
pictures came right into my woeful eyes.
Happiness and memories entwined
as I reminisce those times you were still mine.

Lying in warm fresh grasses again,
I thought of things once again.
Figuring out how those moments we usually ain
vanished as if those were never gained.

The time I met you, the moment I saw you;
it was the moment I felt love was doubtlessly true.
Yet time passes and felicities vanish,
I suddenly changed into someone foolish.

Crying and flinching from the pain you gave
for this day is just too jovial to behave.
I can’t mend the pain, I cannot relieve the ache,
for I am still hoping that someday you would give
the answer on *“why did you leave?”

'Love' was one word
he managed to live with.
an absurd one that's followed
by a feeling of disbelief.

This boy sat upon a nippy grass
every Sunday night when
all that mattered were
sweet honey and silvern stars.

If only he could stretch
his arms and reach the stars
just to make him stay
he would do it in ******
or in effortful way.

If only he could deafen
the people inhabiting
the world through shouting
his lovely name he would do it
like thunder, so people would hiss
and be impressed
of its lightning and blaze.

If only he could build
a giant paper plane
filled by words he meant to say
- by words that could explain how
lovely life could be if he'd stay
in forbearance, he'd do it
despite of his flimsy body
and weak body-built.

If only…

If only these impossibles
could be possible
this boy would stay awake
caffeinated by the feeling
that he's coming back
and love him again and again
just like old days
and unforgotten memories.

But not in this life,
not in here
where beauty is all that matters
and where nature is a fence
that all types of love
couldn't reach the tip
of the paradise we all dream.

to the moon and back,
you promised a word
that gave butterflies in my stomach.
we formed laughters
through the pit of our tongues.
we talked lines
like of Shakespeare's.
and drew kisses
along the flowers of summer.

to the moon and back,
you promised a word
but you swallowed it whole
like days of winter
that **** every petal,
bald every tree,
and hide the moon.

do not say "i love you"
when you really want
is kiss my lips
pull off my shirt
unzip my pants
and lie my body
under yours.

do not.
such phrase
is precious and beautiful
it doesn't deserve
to be treated
the way
you treat me.

i've only known two colors in my life:
grey, like a cloud that forms after a strong dive of a huge bomb
and red, like the blood that streams after a loud gunshot.

i used to fear
the space under my bed
how there might be
a monster hungry
for my brain.
now, it's the void
in my brain that i fear
for the monster
already moved in there.

you hear his words
like a sugar in your ears.
you feel his promises
like honey beneath your skin.
but little do you know,
lies are on the tip of his lips
like salt
you think of as water,
like raw coffee
that melts in his mouth.

now i believe the sadness that comes as time matures and changes everything. it's like yesterday i was tasting the sweet nothings from your lips as it moved slow-mo against mine and your eyes closed like an angel's. but now, all i taste is this sour, bitter v0dka in this tiny, tiny glass. at least, it's more appetizing than your useless promises that you have also eaten the time you left.

i speak broken english. my mouth twists like knotting ropes on my throat. you think it is beautiful to have my tongue tied, to have my lips tinted with blood from the wounds of my words, or to have my mouth open as if to welcome the sweetness on your tongue.

you enjoy yourself as i sing flowers and stars with my hands wrapping a pen. you enjoy witnessing my words dance on pages of my notebook, caressing them with your fingers just like how you touch your girls or love them – the kind i will never feel from you.

i use my hands to tell you stories about my garden, from how i started planting to today that it seems like an unvisited forest. i use my eyes too to water the flowers and trees and stream it like rivers and falls. my tears can make flood out of you, honey. it’s just your breath that drifts away every storm my words make.

but my words are the whole planet. there is chaos in every beauty. there is darkness in every light. and there is evil in every kindness. and you, sweetheart, you are every positive thing in this planet. you are the kindness, the light, and the beauty.

i speak broken english. my mouth withers with words i try to give birth using my pen. my fingers grow blisters as i try to endure pain from my chest or as i try to conceal it with flowery phrases that could help mend the wounds, the ache, and the nightmares.

i speak broken english. i try harder and harder and harder with my feet standing aboveground on this labyrinth my mother warned me about. it’s a maze you will never escape, she told me. but as i saw the sunset on your eyes, i told myself to keep giving birth of words after words after words until i reach your foreign heart.

words.
sometimes are flowers
that grow in variety of colors,
dance among the bees
and bloom among the trees.
but most of the time,
they are gunshots
we often hear from a mouth
of a person who seeks power
over a vulnerable soul.

say "i love you"
to my eyes
not
to my body
that cries

your mouth
is full of salt.
where is
the sugar
your ancestors
fed you?

​words.
they frighten me
like weapons.
like fire.
like ice.
they can be anything
you want them to be.
you can spit them out
in a one clap
but they form big
among the beat of a heart.
they can be knives today
but who knows?
maybe tomorrow
they are a gun placed
beside your skull
with a trigger
waiting to be pulled
and a bullet to be shot.

it was that day we
drove off to the shore
after consuming a tequila or two or three (who knows)
october wind was just
as rare as this moment
the once children of streets
are now
adults with empty wallets.

My skin misses yours
and your scent which smelled of your father’s cheaply Caucasian cigarettes, the only thing I could smell everytime you envelop me with your arms every starry midnight of October. I meant to tell you that you were slightly wrong about me enjoying the cold hard greensward in our neighborhood or of the nights when we drove city by city while listening to a The 1975 song, because the truth, I was more enjoying your company.
But I hate you so much. I hate your tricky innocence, your child-like laugh, your cheaply cut thick hair, your pathetic aspiration to become a well-known contemporary artist on Deviantart and move to another country, and the smell of your sweat—the memory of it.
I also hate the pact we made, that we would only talk of nonsense like how there are so many books in the world but too little time to read them all in a lifetime. Why wasn’t there a time we talked about us two? I tried to decode things like when the night when you told me I was fun to be with and you love seeing my forehead furrowed everytime you mess with me, but it came out a mantrap in the guise of words. I hate you for telling those words.
Yes, my eyes may miss the sight of your warm smile.
But I’d love to not see you again.
Your cold face.
Your reddish cracked thick lips.
Your green hoodie.

your mother's womb
was a sea of salt water
life began from it
with flesh and cells
floating in peace
don't you remember?
you shouted hunger
she heard on her belly
you swam inside her
you were her child
and how dare you
to spill oil and trash
to pollute her
don't you know?
your whole body
is a fruit of her flesh
and her cells
still stream
on your veins

why do they say lips-to-lips
when boys touch her lips
with their mouths open,
their tongues knit hers
like two ropes in concord
to make a thicker one,
their teeth bite
the lower soft part
until she bleeds a line,
and their saliva,
they mix to hers
like honey and saps
or lovers from
warring borders
stick and *** to bear
a new taste of offspring

why do they say lips-to-lips
when it feels more like
a mouth-to-mouth
tasting ****** flesh

was it love
or was it just the rain which caused him to run under my umbrella,
ground water soaked through his nike shoes and our eyes locked
“how are we supposed to go home this time?” asked he, in a voice with frustration in which i just shrugged

was it love
or he just longed for a talk. we were both on our screens facing each other through facetime and his cute naruto pajamas got me so jealous.
“i miss her.” said he, suddenly in a frigid voice in which i nodded, slightly twinged because i got jealous twice that night

was it love
or was he just bored that he kept picking me up last november, night after night, saying he missed not me but my shrill laughter and my ears which were always ready to listen about his girl.
“how do i tell her I like her?” asked he, in which i subtly groaned telling my inner self, i wish i was her

was it love
or was it just me who thought there was something behind those little things. little things which weren’t little at all.
we were walking to our favorite place on that starry saturday night of december when he blurted in discontent, “you’ve gone cold.”
i smiled with guilt for i learned that he’s a shapeshifter; suddenly changed from someone i yearned to hold until sunset into someone i wish i never met

i want to go to thrift book shops
or to libraries where the only sound i hear is the turning of pages
or to cafés where the aroma of roasted cinnamon screams through my nose
or to an empty beach where i can read as the sun kisses my skin.


just any place where my soul calms down;
where i can create my own reality
from the pages that meet my fingertips.